


High-School Lover

by FScottFitzgayerald



Category: Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: (tho don't worry I made the age gap less weird), Boarding School AU, M/M, Slow burn (Kinda??), Teacher-Student Relationship, Work In Progress, there's some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FScottFitzgayerald/pseuds/FScottFitzgayerald
Summary: A 17 year old Emmanuel Macron begins his life anew at a prestigious Canadian boarding school, having left his old one suddenly for some...very suspicious...reasons. Angst and romance ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

Emmanuel Macron sat back into his finely-upholstered chair, positioned just parallel with the headmaster’s desk. Slightly short for his age, the young man’s feet failed to completely touch the ground from the rather low-set chair he sat in. Macron sighed, recollecting on all the times he’d been teased for falling below the 5’6 mark. _Perhaps the change of scenery will be nice_ , he reassured himself. _Perhaps this time it will be different_.

The headmaster, a rather stout man who sat before him, took great care in reading through the 17-year-old’s folder, verifying fact after fact with the boy who replied in sentences no longer than “Oui, Monsieur.” or “Non, Monsieur.” Emmanuel deemed the man unreadable, a label that stressed him out more than he would care to admit.

Another teacher, he was told, was supposed to be present during the verification process but unfortunately found himself “in the midst of absolutely horrendous traffic.” _Bullshit_ , Macron thought to himself as he began to anxiously twirl his tie. The roads surrounding the Canadian boarding school lay almost empty for kilometers in every direction. Macron bit his lip, wondering what he could have possibly done to offend the teacher he hadn’t even met. He continued to dwell on the matter, only to have his worrisome meditations interrupted by a knock on the door. The headmaster ushered the guest in, hardly glancing up from Emmanuel’s profile.

“Sorry I’m late, terrible traffic on the backroads–” the teacher began with an unfamiliar Quebecois twang that made Macron cringe. “Oh, you must be Monsieur Macron.” The man extended his hand to the boy, who was unsure whether to remain seated or stand. He gingerly accepted the other man’s handshake. “Mr. Trudeau.” He said, grasping the boy’s hand firmly.

“A pleasure.”

The man chuckled. “I’m sure it is.” 

Macron cocked his head.

Trudeau smiled. “I mean no offense, Mr. Macron. It’s just many students don’t tend to find pleasure in the high-stress interviews our headmaster, Mr. Brosseau, provides – unless of course they’re a masochist.” 

The headmaster couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the young teacher’s comment. 

“Please, sit down Monsieur Trudeau,” Mr. Brosseau continued in-between chuckles. “I do apologize for my colleague’s crudeness.” He said, turning to Emmanuel who was now glowing beet-red. Macron dryly opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words. _Goddamnit_ he thought as Trudeau pulled up a chair directly across from him.

“Enough with the pleasantries.” Trudeau continued, waving aside the previous conversation. “I was told you were quite the student at your prior school. Your teachers raved about you, Emmanuel.”

Macron nodded, praying that _her_ name wouldn’t pop up.

“We received quite a notable letter of recommendation from your French teacher,” _Shit_ “A Mrs. Brigitte Auzière. It’s unlike anything we’ve seen before.” _Shit Shit Shit_.

Macron forced a smile as best he could. “Really? Madame Auzière and I were never particularly close.” _Was that too obvious?_ He asked himself. Macron closed his eyes. “If anything, she was overly-strict with me around.” 

Trudeau’s smile sunk from a full to a half-hearted grin. “Oh no, Emmanuel. You were really her favorite.” 

_I know_ , Macron thought, reflecting on their brief but wondrous time together. Macron inhaled and composed himself, ready for the next blow he was sure the young teacher would unintentionally deliver. “I’m really pleased to hear that.” 

“We have an excellent French program here, ones for native speakers and learners alike.” The headmaster encouraged, doing his best to warm the visibly-tense applicant up. “The most advanced of which are taught by Mr. Trudeau.”

Pieces were slowly coming together. _So that’s why Monsieur Trudeau made his appearance in the interview, because of Brigitte’s overbearing letter of recommendation_. “Great.” Emmanuel mumbled softly to himself, almost wishing he hadn’t grown as close to the teacher as he had. 

“We run off a block schedule here, meaning we allow students to choose one core class to occupy two blocks per day – roughly two hours or more.” The headmaster pressed, offering a copy of a sample schedule to the boy. 

“I think you’d be a perfect candidate for our specialized French program. I’d recommend continuing your French Literature studies, as well as maintain a French Acting minor.”

“Really sir, I’m not much of an actor.”

“Oh but of course you are! Your school told us of your undying dedication to the arts. We know for a fact you spent hours rehearsing with Madame Auzière. There’s no reason to be modest.” 

Macron huffed another profanity under his breath. “Well, I suppose you’re right. Perhaps continuing my French studies to such an extent will prove to be worthwhile.” 

“Wonderful!” chirped Trudeau, who seemed genuinely excited to have the boy in his class.

Emmanuel wondered if Trudeau had a wife. _Of course he does_ , Macron thought to himself, noting his future-prof’s strikingly good looks. The man’s radiant blue eyes and soft curls shaped his face in a manner that both attracted and filled Emmanuel with jealousy. He quickly glanced down at the teacher’s hands and saw no ring. _Oh_.

“Well,” the headmaster began again, checking his watch. “It seems as though our meeting must come to an end. I apologize for today’s brevity, but there are other students to attend to, though they may not all as gifted as you, Mr. Macron.”

Emmanuel sighed with relief before standing up to once again shake Monsieur Brosseau’s hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you again, sir.” 

Trudeau stood up and extended his hand towards Emmanuel’s. 

“I hope to grow as close with you as Madame Auzière was able to, Emmanuel. Perhaps even more so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the read! Feel free to comment any concerns/critiques/thoughts or anything else. I can't believe I wrote this with my own two hands, tbh. As always, I dedicate this to CyanLoverSupreme, who deserves this fic more than anything. Also - updates on this well be pretty sparse, as I'm juggling both my own boarding school courses and free-time to write. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed chapter one!


	2. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trudeau lends Macron his jacket, and a little more.

It was cold; colder than Macron had originally anticipated. He leaned against the wall of his French building and exhaled softly, having made a difficult trek across campus in the near-freezing cold. Macron watched with a childlike awe as his breath condensed and dissolved into Canada’s crisp air. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sky. _The autumns in France never reached such lows_ , he thought to himself. _In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen my own breath since…_

Macron snapped his eyes open, preventing himself from finishing his own thought. _Cigarettes with Brigitte._

_Shit._

Emmanuel turned kicked his foot against the brick wall in a blind rage. _Don’t think of her, goddamnit! Don’t think of her! Don’t th—_

“What did the wall ever do to you?” 

Emmanuel quickly turned towards the voice. “Oh, Monsieur Trudeau, Well I—“ he began before being cut off by the older man.

“Really, Macron, I have to say this is an unfair fight.” Macron began to blush. “You can kick all you want, but the wall can’t fight back.” 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Trudeau grinned. “It’s quite all right, Emmanuel. You’d be surprised how many students find themselves attacking the French wing.” 

Macron forced a smile in-between shivers. 

“Where’s your coat?” 

“I’m wearing one, sir.” He grimaced. 

“This? Emmanuel, this isn’t a coat. This is at most a summer-jacket.”

 _Summer-jacket?_ Emmanuel asked himself, looking down. He was wearing his warmest coat, a smooth blue jacket that reminded him of his winters back in France. _Winters with Brigitte._

“Here, take mine.” 

“Sir, it’s quite all right.” 

The teacher began to remove his own heavier coat. “I won’t hear it, Emmanuel. I have a strict anti-student-freezing-to-death policy.” 

Despite the uncomfortability of the situation, a small laugh escaped Macron’s lips. “If you insist, sir.” He conceded, noting Trudeau’s almost loving tone. 

**…**

It had been three days since their encounter outside the French wing, and Macron was beginning to grow anxious. 

_What if he doesn’t have another coat?_ Macron began to twirl anxiously on one of the coat’s threads. He sat on his bed with the grey parka laid out before him. It was well-worn, but still did its job. 

_He probably needs it back… But what if he doesn’t?_ Emmanuel asked himself as he began to hold the coat closer. He inhaled softly against the jacket. His teacher smelled of burnt wood and the Canadian forests he had hiked surrounding the school. 

_What kind of man is he?_ Was a strange and alluring question that Macron dwelled on nightly. Almost everything about the teacher fascinated him. His unmatched kindness, his perfectly-timed quips, even the man’s subtle attractiveness appealed to the boy. Macron closed his eyes and inhaled the jacket one more time. His eyes snapped open.

_Shit._

Macron audibly swore and threw the coat across the room before resting his head in his hands. 

_Not again._

**…**

“Monsieur Trudeau?” 

The teacher looked up from his desk and put the paper he was grading aside. 

“Ah, Mr. Macron. What can I do for you?” Trudeau asked, smiling warmly. He brushed one of his soft curls off his face, only to have it fall back again.

“I have your uh, your coat sir.” 

“Oh! Emmanuel, you really didn’t have to bring that back.” 

“But Monsieur Trudeau, I don’t want you to freeze.” Emmanuel reasoned as he placed the jacket on his teacher’s desk. 

“Emmanuel, I appreciate your sympathy, but rest assured I’m warm enough as it is.” 

“Sir,” 

Trudeau smiled. “I’m Canadian, Mr. Macron. I guarantee you I am prepared for whatever this country has to offer.” 

“That sounds like something the prime minister would say.”

“Doesn’t it?” Trudeau chuckled. “But really, Emmanuel, it’s no trouble. Here – come here.” The teacher ushered the boy forward. Macron placed the jacket on his teacher’s desk and obeyed. “Give me your hand.” 

Emmanuel placed his hand in Trudeau’s and allowed him to press it to his teacher’s chest. Warmth instantly radiated through him. 

“Sir…” 

Their eyes met and Macron suddenly felt himself leaning in closer. His lips parted as the tips of their noses began to touch, sending a newfound warmth throughout the younger man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry for the delay! I'm so sorry this took me so long to post, hopefully the next chapter will arrive quicker. Again, I dedicate this fic to the wonderful @cyanloversupreme, whose writing abilities have never ceased to amaze me. Also, thank you guys so much for the overwhelming positive response on the first chapter! I love you all sooo much! Also Also: I'm 90% sure "uncomfortability" isn't a word but let's just... go with it.


End file.
